


Those Old Jeans

by oh_johnny



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Hamburg Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6363694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened to those jeans that time in Hamburg?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Old Jeans

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of an old fic which originally appeared in the ljcomm Beatlesslash.

_“What are you wearing?”_

_“Jeans.”_

_“Which jeans?”_

_“The old ones.”_

_“The really old ones? The soft ones? The ones that have the mark of your knees in them and the rip in the thigh from that time in Hamburg? The ones that hug your ass?”_

Four o’clock in the morning. The Reeperbahn was jumping, neon flashing, music pouring out of doorways, hookers on every corner trolling for customers. John and Paul wandered through it all, tired, sweaty, hopped up on adrenaline and prellies, too wound up to sleep, too exhausted to focus on a destination. The set was over for the night, they had nowhere they had to be, no one they had to be with.

By mutual unspoken consent, they wandered away from the lights and the noise, moving towards quieter neighbourhoods, places with houses and gardens, lace curtains on the windows and family cars in the drive. 

They had a need to be alone and the anonymity of dark streets provided it. As they walked on, a silence grew between them. There were things they needed to say, things to discuss, and neither was quite sure how to begin.

Paul nudged John and pointed. Across the street was a small park, surrounded by a wrought iron fence. John nodded agreement and they crossed the street to look. There was a gate, which turned out to be locked, and by mutual accord they started to climb the fence, jumping over and landing inside the park. 

It was dark and quiet, with no possibility of interruption. It was exactly what they needed. Shyly, Paul took John’s hand and led him to a bench, deep in the shadows. They sat, still holding hands, in silence.

Hesitantly, Paul cleared his throat.

“So,” he began.

“So,” repeated John.

“Here we are.”

“Yup.”

“Um…”

“Look, Paul. I don’t know. I don’t know why I said it. I don’t know why I did it. I just did. I know we have to talk about this but I don’t know what to say. Drink, maybe, or adrenaline, or prellies or just a mood. I don’t know.”

“But did you mean it?”

A pause. Then,

“Yes.”

“So, you…um…like me.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know. You know. That you were…like that.”

“I’m not.”

“But you and Stu…”

“Are friends.”

“Nothing…more?”

“No.”

“But…me?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. I…I don’t know why. I…I’ve never felt like this for a bloke before, Paul. I’ve never even thought about it, really. And I’d never even really thought about it with you before yesterday.”

“Oh. So…what do you want?”

“I want…I don’t know what I want. I want you not to hate me. Not to be disgusted by me. I guess. I want you to…well…it would be nice if you wanted me too. I could do without a tragic ending for once, you know? And…I…I want you. I want to hold you. To kiss you. To see where this goes.”

Paul looked down at their two hands, still clasped together and said quietly, “I’m not disgusted, John. I don’t hate you. And I guess…well, I guess I don’t mind seeing where this goes.”

“Really?”

Paul nodded and smiled. John, immensely relieved, smiled back tentatively. 

“So, can I kiss you?”

Paul nodded again.

John turned to face Paul, arm stretching along the back of the bench. He leaned forward, bringing his face close to Paul’s. Paul mirrored his action and they faced each other, breathing softly, hovering close, each wondering how to proceed.

Paul licked his lips and let out a nervous giggle.

“I feel like a schoolgirl on her first date. All virginal and awkward.”

“Mm. Just…hold still a minute. Let me…”

Paul held still, waiting as John adjusted his head, making sure noses wouldn’t collide, then brushing his lips softly against Paul’s. It was fleeting, both pulling back before it could develop into a real kiss. They looked at each other, realizing suddenly that this was serious, that this would be crossing a line, going into completely unfamiliar territory and that there would be no way to go back, to undo what was done, to make it all go away if it turned out to be a horrible mistake. Then, as one, they moved back together and kissed, this time for real.

Lips pressed against lips, each breathing in the scent of the other, then, carefully, John ran his tongue over Paul’s mouth, seeking permission to enter. Paul’s lips parted slightly allowing John in, and they tasted each other for the first time. It was intoxicating, a heady mix of the familiar tastes of stale beer and cigarettes combined with the distinctly alien taste of man. Their tongues explored each other for a while, each marveling at how they seemed to fit together so well. Paul moved his hand up to cup John’s face, to caress his cheek, feeling the roughness of stubble against his fingers. John’s hand moved to the back of Paul’s head, fingers wrapped in his hair, holding him. 

It was John who pulled away first, not because he wanted to stop kissing but because he was struck by a need to look at Paul, to look at his lips and run his fingers over them. Paul kissed his fingers as he did so, making the gesture more intimate, somehow, even than the kiss had been. 

They looked at each other then, each searching for some kind of clue, an indication of shared feeling, looking for assurance that this wasn’t a colossal mistake, the gods toying with them.

And both found the reassurance they needed.

They moved to kiss again, this time with some force, a hunger they hadn’t realized was there suddenly manifesting, a need for each other, a tension born of years of intellectual intimacy and physical proximity finding an outlet at last. As they kissed John reached for Paul, pulling him closer so that Paul moved to straddle his lap.

“Ow! Fuck!”

John pulled back, afraid he’d done something wrong.

“What?”

“Damn nail in the bench. It’s ripped these jeans. Look.”

John looked and saw a tear in the thigh of Paul’s jeans, blood beginning to well where the nail had scraped the flesh beneath. He put his hand on it, a gesture meant to comfort, and they both froze, hand on thigh being yet another step towards a greater intimacy than either had expected. 

The next kiss was fierce, passionate, hands roving over each other, chest and back and thigh and ass, bodies pressing ever closer, tongues dueling, both afraid to go further but unable to stop.

Until they heard the sound of a car starting nearby. They parted then, looked around. The sky was becoming light, the neighbourhood coming to life. They suddenly realized they no longer had the protection of darkness, that they were no longer the only ones who could see what was going on. They parted, reluctantly, hands and eyes lingering for a last touch, last look before returning to reality.

“We should go,” said Paul.

“Yeah.”

“But…was this…what you wanted?”

“God, Paul, how can you even ask that? Yes, this was…well…yeah.”

“Good.”

“For you?”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Good.”

“So…?”

“So. So we go back to the world and try to act normally. And tonight…come back here?”

Paul smiled and nodded. John nodded back, both satisfied that whatever they’d begun this night would have a sequel. Neither knew where it would go, but they knew it would go _somewhere_ and for now that was enough.

As they hopped the fence to get back to the street, Paul’s jeans ripped further.

“Dammit! This is my favourite pair. I’m going to have to toss them.”

“No, Paul. Don’t. Keep them.”

“Why?”

John reddened slightly and nodded back to the garden.

“Oh! Really?”

John nodded, eyes not quite meeting Paul’s.

“Sentimental git,” said Paul fondly, “All right. For you. I’ll keep them and wear them for you.”

And John smiled.


End file.
